


Nuwanda's Adventures After Welton

by Crystal059



Series: Pride Month Challenge [8]
Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Movie Spoilers, Post-Movie: Dead Poets Society, Running Away, Traveling Cross Country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal059/pseuds/Crystal059
Summary: After Neil's death, Charlie decides to find himself.





	Nuwanda's Adventures After Welton

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I DON'T own the character, Charlie Nuwanda Dalton.
> 
> {Posted on July 8th}
> 
> A/N: I feel the need to say that I am a full supporter of the headcanon that Charlie is nonbinary. While it's not talked about directly, the headcanon that Charlie is nonbinary is mentioned briefly (briefly, meaning mentioned in, like, one sentence). I'd also like to say, though it's only mentioned once, Charlie goes by Nuwanda completely after he runs away.

It's odd how it happens. Charlie always thought he'd be glad to never see Welton Academy again, but he's not.

He's being driven away from the school, and he feels nothing. He's packing his things to go to another boarding school a few weeks later, and he still feels nothing.

It isn't until two weeks into classes at his new school that Charlie realizes this feeling of numbness inside him isn't going away. At least, not any time soon.

It suddenly seems to Charlie that this numb feeling hit after he'd punched Cameron. Upon further poking and prodding, and thinking, it seems this feeling has been around since that night news came back of Neil's suicide.

Anger breaks through the numb feeling as that memory leads to all of the rest. Of Mr. Keating taking the blame when all he had ever done was get his students to open their eyes to the possibilities of the world.

The anger stays long enough for Charlie to get everything he needs packed back into his suitcase. He's on the road that same night.

The driver who initially picks him up asks his name only minutes after he's driven off.

"The name's Nuwanda, friend," Charlie responds with the same amount of mischief and recklessness as the day he first gave himself the name. The driver snorts in disbelief, but doesn't call Charlie anything other than Nuwanda.

If Charlie were to do some digging, reflect, that is, on himself and the name, he might find that the name Nuwanda feels as much a part of him as his birth name does. He might also find that the numbness inside him has ebbed back, just a tad. But, of course, he doesn't reflect because he doesn't feel the need the question it, any of it.

The name Nuwanda became part of him that day in the cave surrounded by his fellow Dead Poets and that snake Cameron. And the numbness that sits deep within him? Well, he's looking to drown it, wipe it from his soul so that no trace of it is left. He's not looking to keep checking on it like it's the results of a highly important science experiment; he wants to be rid of it as soon as possible.

He's not checking to see if the feeling has reduced a little, he's checking to see if it's gone yet.

But it's still there five, nine, thirteen days later, three weeks later, and Charlie decides to carpe diem - seize the day - as Mr. Keating urged.

It's been three weeks of hitching rides, walking along the highways and interstates, eating the bare minimum to get by, and reading poetry. It's been three weeks of Charlie trying to live in such a way that the numbness disappears, but to no avail. He hasn't made any headway in the matter, so he says fuck it, and goes off to live deeply and suck out all the marrow of life, as Thoreau had said every Dead Poets Society meeting.

He stops thinking about the numbness and lives.

He settles down and gets a job, only long enough to be able to buy a car, the Volkswagen Campervan he's had his eye on ever since he first came into town. After that, Charlie doesn't see the need to stay in one spot for too long.

He uses the rest of his dwindling money on the only other thing he needs, poetry books, at a used bookstore during one of his stops.

And life goes on. Seasons change, as they do, but now Charlie notices them more. He spends his days driving, reading poetry, sleeping, eating. If he needs money, he gets a job; he's had several so far (busboy, waiter, store clerk, cashier, sweeping floors, gas attendant, mechanic).

If he's bored and in a decently populated town, he'll place a cup in front of him and recite obscure poems he's memorized. On good days, Charlie'll get enough money to buy another book of poems. On not so good days, he'll be able to chase boredom away, only making a dollar or two.

He sticks to no area in particular, going from California to Wyoming, to Georgia to Maine. Then one day, he's up north in Vermont or New Hampshire - one of those states - when he takes stock of himself. It's 1963, and Charlie's nineteen, almost twenty.

He's been traveling, living, for nearly four years now, and there's no more numbness. No tightness in his chest when he breathes; no lump in his throat when he swallows; no longing, of any kind, for something different, something other.

He's here, he's made it. He's Charlie Nuwanda Dalton, ex-future banker. He's driven cross-country and seen it all. He's lived in the woods, lived deep, sucked out all the marrow of life. And he thinks he'll keep on doing all that.

He can feel the entirety of the world stretched out before him, everything waiting just for him. He feels powerful, he realizes. Powerful and in control of all that he needs to be. There's nothing but possibilities out there for him, and that's all Charlie ever wants there to be.

It's here and now that he looks out across the world and is struck by a quote he said so long ago. It's here and now that Charlie whispers that quote to himself, satisfied in his journey to this spot and the journeys to come.

He tucks his hands in his coat pockets and exhales, "'To indeed be a god.'"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading! Happy Pride Month!
> 
> -Poison Ivy


End file.
